Fighting for Peace
by Kam I Am
Summary: An assassination attempt on the Queen leaves her in a coma and Naboo in disarray. All is put at ease when a successor is chosen by technicality, but his decision-making leaves the people in doubt, separated by belief, species, and endgame.
1. Of Angels and Drones

**DISCLAIMER: I own NOTHING. All properties mentioned are the the right of their respective owner. I'm purely writing as a fan of the SW Universe.**

**I**

**31 BBY**

**Nabooian Space**

**Sector IV**

Never had Rhys Dallows much enjoyed the prospect of getting shot at. Even less so when the shooter (or shooters as it were in this case) had long been considered dead.

They were Trade Federation designed seeker bots: sleek, lethally efficient, and totally unreliant on the mainframe of Neimodian warship's like so many of their comrades had been that fateful day on Naboo. Just before leaving the planet in disgrace the Trade Federation had disguised the scores of meddlesome drones as rogue satellites and junk heaps, dispersing them throughout outlying Deep Space, their presence still haunting the star-speckled area since the end of that conflict a year prior. As his fellow pilot and longtime friend Porro Dolphe had remarked, _"That's the one thing machines never learn about war, once they're done you pack up and try and forget about them."_

_Now would be a pretty nice time for them to learn how… _

Rhys mused as his laser cannons tore through the nearest drone's metal hull, leaving behind scattered scrap metal that promptly splatter-painted it's way across the vast canvas that was space. In stark contrast to the compact and grayed plating of their enemies chassis were the artful yellow and chrome design that was his partner and his N-1 Starfighters.

"Just like old times, huh?" Vana Sage, said partner, chimed in via comm, evading a cannonade of laser bolts as she streaked past him, further into the void.

A soft smile crossed Rhys' face at the sound of the familiar voice.

"Little too much like old times."

He forced his starfighter into a tight spiral in response to the comment, twirling away from a pursuing fighter. The demand was too much for his foes' automated computers to keep up with, the drone quickly finding itself careening the other way, directly into the burning hull of the first.

The duo's vessels continued on like this for a time, interplaying cannonfire with the mechanized deathbots until the crackling of their ship's audio unit interrupted the carnage.

"We're picking up a disturbance in your sector, everything alright Bravo Ten, Bravo Seven?" A stern voice suddenly echoed between both of their comms.

"Just another clean-up, Bravo Leader. We'll have it all sorted out in time for the Queen's red carpet arrival," Vana replied.

There she was again, as much seniority as Rhys held over her in terms of rank Vana had always been the one to take charge. She'd been his wingmate for nearly a year now, ever since the Retaking of Naboo. It had been a welcome partnership with a fitting use of her callsign – Bravo Seven - that had previously only been held by one other, his mentor and highly esteemed pilot, Essara Till, who had died in the early days of the Trade Federation Blockade. He'd seen no better pilot to take up the mantle than Vana, though he was admittedly rather shocked that she had accepted the Royal Security Forces offer to join and even moreso to see that she had stayed loyal in the months that had followed.

Prior to her time with the Naboo's Security Force Vana had simply been working on a contract basis, always serving the highest bidder. In the weeks just before the Invasion of Naboo she had opted to serve Trade Federation, but had quickly defected from then when she witnessed the many atrocities they were committing.

_Good thing too…_

Rhys mused silently to himself as he observed her expertly cut down three more drones in one decisive laser-projected maneuver.

Ensuring that they were once again on the duo's private comm channel Rhys asked,

"How much longer until Queen Amidala arrives, do you think?"

There was a pause as Vana presumably checked the information.

"Hyperspace chart gives it another thirty minutes or so."

"Frell, it's already been four hours. She's got the fastest Hyperdrive this side of Naboo… what do you thinks holding her up?"

An amused chuckle greeted his ears.

"Probably just getting her hair done."

* * *

**Mid Hyperspace Jump**

The pampered form of Queen Amidala was in fact getting her hair done, doing so upon the elegant throne of her chromed Royal Transport, but about a million other things were being done at the same time.

She was four hours removed from a visit to the Gungan inhabited moon of Ohma-D'un, referred to more simply as the Water Moon by its inhabitants. In the months following the Retaking of Naboo, Boss Nass had officially announced the Gungan colonization of the moon.

_Not the most convenient of timings._

Then again, nothing in her time as ruler had ever been that convenient, including the fact that today marked the one year anniversary of the Retaking of Naboo, an event that could not go without formal recognition by the Queen. The inconvenience? She had been so caught up in Gungan politics that she had failed to prepare her speech before hand.

So there she sat, surrounded by a herd of handmaidens busily doing her makeup, wearing an overly extravagant royal gown, twenty minutes before her J-type 327 Nubian Royal Starship would drop out of Hyperspace, desperately trying to memorize the speech that longtime aide Sio Bibble had so kindly offered to help coach her through.

"But as I stood there, watching the arrest of Nute Gunray I knew the plight of our people had not gone without justice, I knew, uh… I knew that…"

"I knew that the people of Naboo," the aging Councilman Bibble began to correct her, his lengthy silver beard swaying in the process, "whether humanoid, Gungan, or otherwise, had worked together to the best –"

"Oh for kriff's sake! It's no use Sio, we drop out of Hyperspace in ten minutes."

"Well milady..." The elder drifted off for a moment, searching for any positive he could find in the current situation. "At least you got your hair done."

Captain Panaka, still Chief of Security and more vigilant than ever, watched the proceedings from the corner of the chamber and could do little more than shake his head.

_This is a freighter wreck waiting to happen._

* * *

**One Hour Later**

The Swampy Lianorm wasn't a well-known eating establishment. Gavin Sykes, Bravo-Six, had learnt about it from a guy, who knew a guy, who knew a guy, so naturally he had told the whole of Bravo Flight about it. It quickly became a favorite eating establishment of the squadron and had served them well in having a place to conduct events rather celebratory or mission-based. Seating in the booth across from him was fellow pilots Rhys Dallows and Vana Sage, having both just returned from escorting the Queen's ship planet-side. The remainder of the Queen's escort would be handled by Captain Panaka's ground forces.

"Hey Boz!" Gavin's young and muscled form suddenly called out to a nearby Toydarian fry cook, interrupting the flow of his current conversation, "We'll take the usual!"

The usual being three Corellian Ales with Kaadu burgers and fries to go all around.

"Anyways," Rhys continued, the twenty-two year old drumming his fingers along the greasy booth table,"we ran into a couple more of those seeker drones while we were waiting for the Queen to get out of Hyperspace."

"For kriff's sake, the whole Trade Federation must be going bankrupt with all the credits they threw at those things," Gavin retorted.

"Well, if it isn't from that it's gotta be all the money they're handing the Coruscanti Courts under the table. Nute Gunray's had three trials! How the frell has he not been convicted yet?!" Vana asked incredulously.

"That slime ball finds his way out of anything." Gavin sighed with a shake of his head.

The Holoscreen directly above the bar flickered away from the local Grav-Ball match, switching over to a breaking news update with the Queen's face displayed.

"Hey! Here's the speech. Can you amp up the volume, Boz?"

The blue munchkin-like Toydarian did as requested, the red gowned Queen's once silent words becoming audible.

"My dear people…"

* * *

**Theed Plaza**

"… Today marks a day of reflection. A day trapped within visions of bloodshed from a year prior, but also a day that displays the resilience of the Nabooian people."

Queen Amidala paused there, taking in the large crowd of humanoids with their varying expectations. A mixture of species, mainly Human and Gungan were scattered throughout the Plaza. She spotted the entirety of the Naboo Royal Council and her loving family on one side. Warm comfort was found here that was totally devoid from those on her immediate left, a number of outer range political figures that had simply opted to attend the speech to save face they might lose for doing otherwise. They were her largest critics. Those that never ceased to question the ruling capabilities that she held at her young age of fifteen.

Ignoring their hostile looks she continued on,

"I recognize that we do not all arrive here the same way we did before this brutal conflict. The Trade Federation ravaged across our lands and took away many of the people we held dear. Nothing I can do or say can be done to fix that irreparable damage. I come to let you know –"

She stopped herself by the shock of what followed in that split moment, seeing a burst of crimson light emit from the blaster rifle in a four-story building across the Plaza long before its noise could be perceived.

_Perhaps it's for the best… I never did manage to learn the whole speech._

It was her last thought before the beam of energized plasma struck her heart and she fell swiftly into the clutches of death.


	2. Of Outcomes and Revelations

**II.**

**Swampy Lianorm**

There was a shocked silence permeating throughout the eating establishment. Boz had left the stove unattended causing the Kaadu burgers to turn black and smoky as he stared in bewilderment at the holoscreen that had cut to black several panicked moments prior. The viewer's last glimpse of the scene was that of Captain Panaka and company rushing towards the Queen's withering body.

The three pilots had looked between each other as if expecting the other to hold the explanation to what they had just seen.

But there was only one explanation to be had and it sounded just as unbelievable in writing: the Queen had been shot and was now drowning in a pool of her own blood.

* * *

**Theed Emergency Center**

**Three Days Later**

"I honestly don't know what to tell you both." The head Physician stated to the unlikely duo of Sio Bibble and Quarsh Panaka, all three of them standing just outside the doors of the Queen's medical chamber. In strong contrast to the darkened robes that Councilman Bibble garbed himself in was the blaster-proof vest and standard blue collared uniform that the Captain wore.

"Her recovery is miraculous. The assassin's laser bolts struck her in such a way that not a single one of her vital organs was hit. It came this close to piercing her right ventricle".

The physician held a space about an inch in length between his thumb and index finger.

"In fact, given the trajectory of the shot it _should _have pierced her right ventricle… Again, I'm at a loss for words."

He paused again as if searching for some statement of finality on the matter.

"It's almost as if the will of the Force itself commanded it."

The physician stopped himself there as he felt the gaze of the captain bearing down on him. It was no secret that Panaka did not view the Jedi, or their "fanatical religion" as he had put it, in the most positive of lights.

"As… Uh, some might say." He offered.

"When exactly is she expected to wake up?" Came the captain's reply.

"We're not entirely certain sir. We know that she will indeed awake, but for lack of a better descriptor it seems as if we're in a wait and see sort of mode right now. No amount of medical treatment can aid her now – because in truth there really is no observable medical condition to fix. It's all a matter of the body waking up from its comatose state, but that's more up to her than anyone else at this point."

Both Sio and Panaka shook their heads in disagreement.

"If that were true she'd already be awake."

* * *

**Theed Apartment Suite**

**Later That Evening**

These had been trying times for Royal Councilman Sio Bibble. In the three days since the assassination attempt on the Queen he had hardly slept and had been far too busy to eat either. As the silver bearded elder entered his home it was struggle enough just to kick off his boots and lounge out on the recliner nearest the door.

Inhaling deeply he let his aging mind race through the whirlwind of events of the last 72 hours, from emergency room to press conference to Council meeting and back again. He'd visited the hospital over a dozen times in that timeframe with the Queen's expression-less face never changing, always pale and in a deep sleep. Speaking of sleep, he came to realize his whole body was begging for it, but he had a multitude of reports and Council duties to address for the following morning, there simply was no time for sleep.

_Maybe just a nap… I can take a little nap._

And so he eagerly closed his eyes, taking solace in the darkness…

…

"Sir?"

He jolted awake and found a tall figure standing over him. Dazed at first, he had worried that it was an intruder, but as his vision cleared, he was able to make out his chromed 3PO-series protocol droid peering down at him.

"… Not now H-3. Go clean the dishes or something."

Sighing softly as the droid walked off, he closed his eyes again and went back to resting, only to find that the sleep had left his eyes. Growling in frustration, he forced his eyes closed tighter but to no avail.

_The Royal Council doesn't meet for several more hours… I suppose if I can't sleep, now would be as good a time as ever to figure a way out of this mess._

He'd always found his spot on the Royal Council the best possible way to serve, this way he was out of the majority of the limelight and he was able to use his seniority in the council to make influential decisions. But it appeared as if his time behind the curtain would soon be coming to an end. No clear heir had ever been publicly endorsed by Queen Amidala, leaving the throne, and Naboo as a result, in a great deal of turmoil. A stand-in was required, someone who had the knowledge and experience to keep the people steady in these troubling times. And if one were going strictly off that description no one fit the bill better than himself.

But as much as he loved politics he also had an insurmountable fear of failing those he served, and as a first time planetary ruler failure was sure to come. He scrunched his face and gritted his teeth tightly again in furious hopelessness.

"Sir, if you contort your face any tighter you're likely to burst a blood vessel."

He opened his eyes again, both shocked and clearly annoyed at the fact that H-3 was disturbing him for the second time.

"I thought you were cleaning the dishes."

"You've not eaten at home once in the last three months sir, all the dishes are clean."

Sio's nose twitched.

"H-3, I know you mean well but unless you've come up with a solution to my current Royal catastrophe I honestly would rather you just shut yourself down for the night."

"Actually sir, this message that you have just received may contain the answers you so desire."

He raised an eyebrow and slowly brought himself up from the recliner.

"Message?"

"Yes sir, it was sent by Boss Nass from Ohma-D'un. "

"Oh."

Sio quickly sighed and waved the droid away again.

"I'm not interested in the Boss's sympathy notes at the moment, H-3. He's likely too busy frolicking in the swamps to do much real help for us back on Naboo at the moment anyways."

The protocol droid paused at this response, clearly agitated (or as close as a droid could be to that emotional response) at his master's total disregard for the message.

"Actually sir, when you manage to find the time to listen to his message you will learn that Boss Nass has not been 'frolicking in the swamps' as you put it, and in fact already has a solution in place to this entire ordeal."

* * *

**Royal Palace**

**The Following Morning**

It would be controversial. Frell, in Sio's mind it already was_._ The very idea of it had sounded absurd to his ears the night before. He had replayed the Holo-message several times since then and yet he'd found no different interpretation to take from it.

The Councilman had ordered the Royal Council together early the next morning and decided he would play the same message that he had received from Boss Nass the night before to the group at large. The holoviewers in the Royal Palace were mercifully created in such a way that enabled them to process and translate any Gunganese dialect into its shortened (and far less annoying as thought by many on the Royal Council) form in Basic. Boss Nass and another crucial guest (Left anonymous to Sio, who was increasingly beginning to worry was Senator Binks) had also both agreed to explain the ramifications that this message could hold to the Council, the former via Hologram and the latter soon to arrive in person.

Clearing his throat, Sio strode towards the middle of the Council room with three tables spread in a semi-circle. Of the dozen seated there were old friends and bitter rivals, some Ministers of Culture, others Economic Advisors, all working for the greater good of Naboo. And he was becoming more and more certain by the moment that none would like the news he had to bring.

"Greetings, Royal Council. I have called you all here today on behalf of Boss Nass." Sio then gestured to the Gungan ruler, by way of his scaled and always serious face that was displayed in faded blueness on the Holoviewer, found in the middle of the Council room.

"Without further ado, I will let him take the floor and describe the potential changes to the situation we have been in."

Boss Noss gave a warm smile to Sio, his hologram moving just a moment slower than real time as the holoviewer began to alter his words, eliminating the unnecessary Gunganese accent in the process.

"Thank you Royal Councilman, instead of reiterating what I have said once before, I've decided to show you all the same message that I sent Councilman Bibble last night." The large Gungan nodded towards a technician nearby who hurriedly began typing on his datapad, ordering it to play the clip. In moments the message was found and began to play.

"Dear Councilman Bibble, I must share my deepest regrets for your people's suffering at this time. In many such situations, grief is all I can offer, yet your Queen continues to give even when she is not present amongst her people. To have my soldiers serve her in the Battle of the Grass Plains against the Trade Federation I made her promise one thing and one thing only. That being if anything were to happen to her, rather death or a future handicapping disease, myself or a protégé of mine would step in to the role as Ruler of Naboo until her return. Considering my responsibilities on Ohma-D'un at this moment I cannot currently fill in on my contracted agreement. Instead, I have a nephew known as Prince Dun-Tar, also of royal blood, who will come in this time of need to serve your people. He has studied long and hard so I can assure you he is more than up to the task at hand. "

The message ended and the Holographed head of Boss Nass returned back on the Holoviewer. Taking a moment to take in the Council members Nass continued and said,

"As you can see, your Highness made quite the secret agreement with me on your people's behalf."

Boss Nass took another moment to clear his throat before saying,

"I believe I have said everything that needs to be said."

Nodding at the statement, Sio again stood up and said,

"Then the Council shall take a vote and see if this decision our Queen has made shall come to pass."

"No vote shall be necessary, Councilman Bibble," Boss Nass answered in response.

The many seated Councilmen did not hold back the surprise that crossed their faces at this announcement.

"But, your lordship, we have always verified such things by the voting of the Council -"

"This act does not require any such Council voting, it was verified by your Queen both in that verbal agreement _and_ in a written document.

"Written, your lordship?" Came a unison of worried bureaucrats.

"Indeed, digitized copies have been sent to each of your Council's datapads with the physical agreement written out upon the bark of the Sacred Tree while your people hid with ours in the marshlands, that copy remains in Otah Gunga though I would surely bring it if that is what your people required."

There were murmurs of shock and outrage throughout the Council at this information. They had assumed the calling of the meeting to be a formality, something to bring awareness to the Queen's persuasive techniques and also to perhaps humor the Council of the thought of a Gungan Ruler in these most trying of times. _Never_ would the Council actually permit a Gungan to take the throne. The very thought of it was preposterous.

"Your Grace, I don't think you understand-"

"Oh I think it is you who is not understanding very well, Councilman Bibble."

The blast doors on the adjacent side of the room came open in response to this statement and Sio suddenly realized who the anonymous and late-arriving guest truly was.

"Until your Queen awakes from her sleep you _will_ be ruled by a new lord and leader – KING Dun-Tar."

The newly appointed Gungan King soon entered the chamber, his lanky formed garbed in violet robes. He began shaking the hands of the various reluctant Royal Council members within, a knowing smile plastered on his face. The plans he had for the planet would be swift and clean, though not at all pleasant.

_**A/N: Woo! Lot of dialogue in this one. **__** I'm not aiming for this to be a particularly political heavy story so look for everything to shift back to Rhys and the gang in the next chapter as they find out about these recent developments and go on their first mission as issued by King Dun-Tar.**_


	3. Of Coronations and Simulations

**III**

**Naboo**

**Canyons of Theed**

"I'm going in!"

Nose-diving into a crossfire of death and destruction at the bottom of a rocky gorge had not been the way Rhys Dallows imagined his morning to go. He had envisioned a nice cup of caf and some Nuna eggs – sunny side up - but was instead treated to a buffet of laser cannon raining down upon his yellow painted N-1 Starfighter. Being a Nabooian produced starfighter meant that none of the amenities were spared, from it's chrome tipped bow to it's long poled sub-light pulse engines, the N-1 was as elegant a craft as there was. Unfortunately, with an elegant design there also came a great deal of unreliablity in terms of keeping one on their intended path of direction.

"Keep her steady, Wrench! We've still got a ways to go."

Rhys commanded his Astromech droid as he struggled to keep the nose of his craft pointed upright. The very frame of his starcraft groaned in protest as its shields soaked up punch after vicious punch of laser fire, each additional hit threatening to veer his ship farther off course.

Rhys sighed a heavy sigh as his ship quavered under the weight of another barrage of bolts.

He was beginning to regret getting himself stuck in this mess.

The objective had been simple enough. Turret emplacements were placed by an undisclosed number of enemies and were lined throughout the inner valley of an oft-used ravine that led into Theed. These emplacements would make easy targets for the three bombers of Bravo Flight to lay waste too. The only problem was the dogfighting capabilities of the NB-1S bomber, which were slim to none. That's where Rhys and his remaining squadron mates came in; their goal was to engage the swarms of Mercenary-piloted Diango fighters surrounding the turrets, drawing as much of the fire away from the trio of bombers as possible.

They were designated into three groups. While Bravo Leader Ric Olie generally preferred the superb maneuverability of the N-1, he opted to take the lead of the trio of bombers along with Bravos Two and Five – the only other ones with enough bomber experience to handle the craft. This left Rhys and Bravos Seven, Six, Three, and the remaining squadmates to lead the enemy craft away, or play a round of "tag" as Gavin Sykes had put it. Though as Rhys weaved and crossed away from non-stop fire, it was beginning to seem more and more like a game of duck and cover.

Even at the twelve pilot requirement they hardly fit the definition of a traditional Squadron so much as a conglomeration of one time farmers and plasma miners.

_They don't call us Naboo's finest for nothing... _

Although questionable by most standards the statement itself was very true. The trials the pilots trying out for Bravo Flight were put through were intensive and extremely rigorous. Rhys had barely squeaked by in the written tests (even though he insisted that he had read the training manual cover to cover) but had passed the flight exam with relative ease.

"Your bucket of bolts going to hold together, Bravo Ten?" Vana inquired, suddenly bringing him out of his thoughts just in time to twirl away from another streak of incoming blasts.

"She's been through worse."

_Not by very much though._

Rhys wearily mused as he glanced at the damage report that his loyal astromech droid Wrench was continuously churning out for him.

Vana's degradation of his fighter was not done out but of spite but because she herself was flying her own N-1 soaring adjacent to his. He knew she would much rather be piloting the _Guardian Mantis_, her own personal starship, but Ric Olie, also known as Bravo Leader, had vehemently rejected to the use of any non-Nabooian craft. Especially when he had come to discover it was originally a prototype she had "borrowed" from the Trade Federation.

Rhys' sensor output suddenly flashed an ominous red as several more blips entered the edge of it's screen. His gaze shifted upwards, where a parade of squid-like starfighters were veering towards him. Each craft's cockpit rotated on an axis, held in it's socket by a trio of laser cannon-plastered wings surrounding it. He jerked the ship's joystick, whipping himself in a tight twirl that allowed him to narrowly avoid collision with the nearest enemy. With the foes temporarily off his back he instinctively went for his comm, aiming to inform the others of the exotic craft.

"I've got four more bandits incoming."

"You think that's bad? We've got double that coming from an encampment down below."

Rhys found himself gritting his teeth. The enemy fighters approaching from either side were accelerating at a speed far greater than that of their own N-1 fighters, they would be on their quartet of crafts within moments.

"Frak! If I didn't know any better I'd say they were doing lightspeed on us," rang a reply from a third pilot flying towards the aft of Rhys' fighter.

"Gavin, you know it's impossible they'd be going that fast, there's simply no way-" A fourth pilot attempted to remind him before being cut off.

"Yeah, yeah, I don't need the science lesson right now, Wendrik. Let's just figure out how we're going to lose them."

"We've got callsigns for a reason, boys," Bravo Leader reminded the duo of Gavin Sykes and Arven Wendrik as he and Bravos Two and Four continued to circle far above the canyon, waiting for the enemy fighters to be cleared out so they could rain bombs down on the various turret emplacements.

"… Yes sir."

Normally Rhys would offer a chuckle for the exchange between Leader and squad-mates but he was far too focused on the blindingly fast movement of their enemies.

"In a canyon like this, speed like that is going to be the death of them."

He murmured more to himself than the comm channel, but the statement was still picked up by all listening.

"Sounds like you've got a plan Bravo Ten."

A loose grin formed on his face.

"Close as we're going to get to one, Bravo Six."

"Bravo Seven", he addressed Vana. "You form up on my wing. Six and Four, you pair up as well. The canyon splits into two paths in about seven kilometers. We've got the one that cuts to the right; I want you two taking the left. It gets tight in there guys, if they've really got FTL-engines hooked up we'll be able to outmaneuver them in the confines and let the rocky walls do the rest. We can ready proton torpedoes and pick off whatever's left once we meet up again on the other side."

_**If**__ we end up on the other side… _

Rhys thought morosely. There was a momentary pause as the group took in this sudden relay of information.

"Frak… Best shot we've got," Arven admitted.

A cluster of agreement followed throughout the rest of the channel, expanding the grin that was already plastered on Rhys' face.

"Acknowledged. Form up and keep an eye on your scanners, there's not much warning before the canyon splits off. "

He issued the order before transferring all power to his N-1's rear shielding, already anticipating a lot of explosions veering at him from behind, likely to come from the pursuing enemies as they attempted to follow him throughout the jagged canyons.

Gazing down at his ship's array of statistical displays, Rhys found Wrench was already dialing out the probability of him successfully piloting his N-1 through the diverging paths of the canyon.

"First damage reports and now this? When you gonna start bringing me some good news, Wrench?"

The droid beeped out a reply that roughly translated to_ "When you start piloting better, sir."_ Rhys wasn't sure whether to laugh or threaten to deactivate the unknowingly humorous droid, instead resolving to prepare himself for the bumpy ride ahead.

_3000 Meters … 2000… 1000…_

"Here… We… _Go!"_

As Rhys urged his craft around the first rocky turn he could already feel the sting of flames igniting not far behind him. Normally this would be a cause for celebration, but a sudden cry of shock made him twist his head back towards the tail end of his ship where his wingmate should have been.

"Vana! You -"

-"You aren't losing me that easily, Dallows," came Vana's reply as she sailed through the furious inferno that had once been an enemy starship.

Breathing a sigh of relief Rhys quickly followed up with,

"Keep it a bit tighter on this next turn Bravo Seven, we're going to need all the firepower we can get on the other side of this thing."

"That your way of telling me you need me, Bravo Ten?"

"More your ship's payload than you, but I guess they're kind of a packaged deal," Rhys replied in the playful banter that only came from working with someone nearly every day for over a year. Another yelp of alarm from the path adjacent to theirs caused the duo to drop their conversation.

"Bravo Six? Bravo Four? What's your status?" This time Vana being the one to inquire, concern just as heavy in her voice as it had been in Rhys'.

"Nothing major, Bravo Seven. Just got left with a bit of dent – more of a scratch really. Nothing the mechanics can't fix up back at base."

"Let's try and keep it that way then, Bravo Four. " Bravo Leader advised, noises of destruction echoing through his comm from the bombardment he was now instilling upon the turrets with the enemy fighters being lured away.

Caught in the midst of chatter, Rhys was forced into a daring whirl, streaking through a small crevice on the canyon's inner limestone wall. Two unlucky vessels had opted to follow him inside, neither one small enough to fit through the exit point of the cavern. Rhys came out the other end with blaze and scrap metal trailing behind him.

"Woohoo!" Came his triumphant cheer as he zoomed back into the main canyon.

"Not out of the clear yet, Bravo Ten," Vana reminded him with a trio of remaining fighters making their presence known by way of their laser cannons.

"But getting close," Rhys responded as he noted their diverging path was meters away from clearing out into the valley - just as planned. "Hope everybody's got those torpedoes ready."

Vying for the exit were both Rhys and Vana, their pursuers sweeping behind them with no intention of stopping. This served to the duo's advantage as they jetted out the other end of the canyon, a grassy valley their arrival point.

Cutting engine power to zero, Rhys found himself jerking upward in his seat from the sudden forward momentum, his finger hovering just over the trigger. With one quick burst of the secondary thrusters his craft was rotated to face the opening that he had just exited. As he took in the approach of mercenaries coming nearer and nearer to him and his squad-mates, only one word came to mind.

"Boom."

And with the joint effort of four pairs of proton torpedoes suddenly emitting fire, "boom" it indeed went. The exit of either path of the canyon was an eruption of smoke, flame, and lifeless mercenary bodies. Metal shattered and the canyon walls threatened to collapse from the sheer ferocity of their combined blast. Not a word was said between the four as the onslaught ended and the dust settled far below.

"Well, that's the last of 'em," Bravo Leader finally chimed in. "Turrets and fighters both. Job well done Bravo Flight."

* * *

The congratulatory words of Bravo Leader continued to ring in Rhys' ears, long after everything went black and he felt his pair of goggles being pulled away from his face. He inhaled deeply and ran a hand through his sweaty blond hair, finding momentary peace in the darkened simulation pod his adjusted eyes found themselves in. The entire mission had been performed within the newly established simulator room of the Royal Security Forces HQ.

The sudden light of outside as he pushed open the simulator doors served to take him completely out of the otherworld of the mission and reminded him of the many problems that he and his squad-mates were facing in the real world. Perhaps most worrisome being that the Queen they had all sworn an oath of allegiance to was trapped in a comatose state with a Gungan King soon to be serving in her place. That was not information the public at large was yet privy to, beyond crucial military personnel (such as the members of Bravo Flight) no one else was even aware that a new King was ruling in interim.

"I think this trip to the Sims was a little more than we bargained for, Bravo Leader." Rhys heard Gavin comment as he and everyone else departed their respective pods.

"I'd say it beats actually getting shot at by somebody," Bravo Two - Porro Dolphe - shot back before Ric Olie could speak, the air of a veteran pilot clear in his voice.

The age discrepancy between members of Bravo Flight would have been controversial in any other military installation, considering they ranged as old as their mid-forties in the case of Porro Dolphe and Ric Olie, and as young as their twenties to potential teens in the cases of Rhys, Gavin, and Arven. Both Vana and Dinee were the wild cards in this subject, as none of the men of Bravo Flight felt brave enough to dare ask the two female their ages. Though if Rhys were under pressure to guess he would place Vana in her early thirties with Dinee coming in a few years older.

"Agreed. And I know this'll have you just as ready for when we really do get shot at… After a performance like that I think I'll need a couple drinks just to calm myself down. How about we all hit up the Swampy Lianorm? First rounds on me," Ric offered with a smile beaming on his face, clearly proud of the performance by his squadron.

The noise of footsteps just outside the walls of the simulator room stopped anyone from responding with what would have been a very enthusiastic yes.

From behind the closed blast doors of the adjacent room came a group of Royal Security Force members surrounding one Gungan. Based off the overly long robes the Gungan was wearing, Rhys was able to deduce it was in fact the newly un-crowned King standing before them. Admittedly an achievement considering how hard he usually found it to differentiate between the score of Gungans that inhabited Naboo. This knowledge seemed to suddenly dawn on all the other pilots too as they quickly (though quite reluctantly) gave a small bow for the new King.

All the King had to do was wave his hands to imply that bowing was not necessary. The long-billed creature gave his best attempt at a smile before saying,

"There will be time for that later. Such as at the coronation ceremony that is being held for myself later today that I'm cordially inviting you all too… _That_, is when you may begin to bow before me as your new King."

The King spoke unflinchingly even though most of the present pilots were shooting glances between each other at the news that they would be attending the King's coronation. They also were astonished to hear that the usual Gunganese dialect was not to be found in his voice, Rhys thought it sounded as if he had grown up speaking Basic his entire life.

"I shall return to my Royal Transport for now. I will let you finish up your discussions here Captain Olie, but I advise you do so quickly. You are all to meet here again in exactly two standard hours. A transport will be here to take your men to the sight of my coronation when you return."

The Gungan finished in a regal tone that Rhys was already beginning to find grating. With another nod of his head he twirled around, robes whipping with him, and departed back through the door he came. His legion of guards followed in his wake.

From there, Bravo Flight's attention was then shifted back to it's Leader. What Ric Olie had hoped to be a fun team-building occasion at the Cantina had suddenly turned into a Royal Ceremony. There was unease between the pilots as they reviewed their brief encounter with the King.

"Well… This changes our plans," Ric admitted with a hint of resignation. "But this is the _King_ we're talking about. I want you all to get home, shower, and put on your best dress uniforms. Let's make sure the King knows that Bravo Flight doesn't mess around."

* * *

**Two Hours Later**

**Aboard Royal Transport**

Given that the pilots of Bravo Flight often found themselves stuck in the cramped confines of their N-1 cockpits they found the spacious Grand Hall Chamber of the King's Royal Transport to be quite a nice change of pace. Spaced throughout the chamber were a number of Naboo's highest ranking officials. Rhys found himself intimidated just by the level of education that those surrounding him possessed. While he considered the Flight Academy he attended a fine institution it was a far cry from the tutelage some of the politicians around him had been granted.

Slightly adjusting the buttoned collar of his dress uniform, Rhys again found himself overlooking the mass of people situated throughout the chamber. He had lost the rest of Bravo Flight in the hustle of boarding the ship and was without a familiar face to converse with. Finally, at a table far from the throng of people, Rhys found someone he knew. He approached the man in question with slight hesitation; it had been a number of years since the pair had talked to one another.

"Councilman Bibble," Rhy acknowledged the aging man with a nod of his head. "It's been awhile, sir."

"Ah! Rhys! I haven't seen you in quite some time, son. Ever since," Sio exclaimed before trailing off. It was clear to the pilot why this was. Rhys had known Sio as a friend of his father, a man who had mysteriously disappeared while freighting Nabooian supplies. A common theory was that a band of pirates had raided the ship and jettisoned it's crew. Perhaps realizing where both their minds were headed the Councilman shook his head in an attempt to shift the conversation.

"Anyways, that doesn't matter right now. Come! Take a seat; we've got quite awhile until we land at the Ceremony, plenty of time to catch up with an old friend."

Catch up the pair did indeed do. It wasn't long until they were reminiscing on the times before the blockade, where the intensive safety precautions of today had been nonexistent and the Trade Federation's presence was minimal at best. The discussion soon shifted to a different topic as Rhys spotted the King return from a private meeting room, the always present Royal escort of guards trailing in his tracks.

"He's not much like most other Gungans is he?"

"No," Sio began with a shake of his head. "He really isn't… That lack of a Gunganese accent is hardly the first difference." The Councilman continued as he absent-mindedly stroked his beard. Finally stopping he gave a soft chuckle, "Perhaps one of the more acceptable differences though, I'll give him that."

Rhys gave a laugh in return but his face slowly grew serious again.

"Can I ask you something I've been wondering about, sir? Candidly?"

There was a warm twinkle in Sio's aged eyes.

"I don't see why not."

"Well… Speaking candidly sir, why the frell do you think the Queen would make an agreement like this with Boss Nass?"

Sio sighed with a nod as if he had been expecting the question to come up.

"You'd be surprised to hear I've been asking myself that same question at times as well, Rhys. As much as I'd like to think I can, there's no way for me to understand every decision the Queen makes. Whether in private or among those of us in her Council, there will always be things I and her don't necessarily agree on."

The Councilman took a moment to gather his thoughts, gazing out the window at the whizzing greenery as they flew by.

"I will say this though, at the time the agreement was made, the Queen's hand had truly been forced. And as much as I hate to admit it, without the support of the Gungans that day we would not have had enough men to fend off the blasted Trade Federation… Perhaps Dun-Tar's time as King is a fitting price to pay in return. Besides, he'll only be in power for as long as it takes the Queen to make her recovery. How much can he really possibly hope to change in that short of a time period? "

* * *

**One Hour Later**

**Theed Palace**

"My dear people..."

King Dun-Tar began, an ornate crown having just been placed upon his head.

"I thank you all for accepting me as your King in these most troubling of times. Many moons ago the rightful Queen handed my people the Globe of Peace in formal recognition of our people's prowess in the Battle of the Plains. Perhaps now it is best for all if I do this."

King Dun-Tar approached the pedestal that the Globe of Peace was seated upon directly next to his podium. It was spherical in shape and emanated an iridescent bluish hue. The newly appointed King lifted this sphere and sent it shattering down to the ground in one grandiose action.

The thousands in attendance for this display all took one collective gasp in response. Rhys felt as if his jaw was dropping to the floor. The Globe of Peace had been of great symbolic importance, an offering between Humans and Gungans that had been made at the end of the Trade Federation Blockade of a year prior. One that spoke far greater than any words the two species could use to acknowledge each other's worth in those days of war.

Even with all this in mind the King seemed completely unfazed by his audience's reaction and began to speak again.

"As your newly established Ruler I must make one thing unquestionably clear: Until the Queen's assassinator is found there shall not be peace. This declaration is not made with pleasure but by necessity. We must all be vigilant in these most trying of times. The assassination attempt made one thing abundantly evident…"

The Gungan King took a moment to gaze into the unsettled crowd..

"We have entered a new era. An era in which we cannot stand down and let such treasonous acts go without acknowledgement. An era in which we _all_ must take up arms and fight for our planet's peace."

* * *

_**A/N: Maaaaan, was this a lengthy chapter to write! Hope you all enjoyed. This will only be the first in a long list of shocking things King Dun-Tar does with his new found power. Would love to hear all of your thoughts on these recent developments.  
**_


	4. Of Outbursts and Deceptions

**IV**

**Swampy Lianorm**

"… In other news, the petition to replace newly appointed King Dun-Tar with Councilman Bibble has already surpassed an astounding 50,000 signatures. This sudden surge is likely due in part to the King's actions at the commemoration ceremony held earlier this afterno-" _**Click!**_

A loose credit chip was slipped into the aging jukebox.

"**Playing: Album: All At Once, Track: 07"**

With all the abnormity of late, it was rather strange that Bravo Flight found themselves falling into the usual routine. Vana and Gavin were playing a round of Holodarts, Rhys spectating the duo bar side with a glass of Corellian Ale in hand. If one were to peer outside the establishment they would find Porro Dolphe and Arven Wendrik huddled over a Grav-Pool table, a pile of credits at stake for the two players.

Rhys let his posture slip a bit, the multiple glasses of alcohol beginning to take effect. His eyes drifted from the Holodart game (where Vana was celebrating a successful bull's-eye) to the barkeep – Boz – as he hovered here and there, absent mindedly dragging a wash cloth along the dusty counter as he went.

There were many things one could say about the three foot tall, winged creature – but one of his more annoying quirks came in the way of powering the Swampy Lianorm. Beyond a few lamps laying overhead and the faint glow of a Pazaak table in the corner of the establishment, there was very little to be had in the way of lighting.

As if feeling the pressure of his gaze, Boz turned to face Rhys, a cigar poking out beneath his blue and wrinkled snout.

"You need something, Dallows?"

Waving away a puff of cigar smoke, Rhys shook his head no.

"Sorry Boz, couldn't tell that was you. Frell, it's so damn dark in here I can hardly tell who _anyone_ is. "

Rhys leaned forward in his barstool with a shiver, pulling his flight jacket closer to his body. His gaze shifted upward to inspect the air vent directly above him.

"And you're blowing subzero temperatures down on us too…" He paused for a moment, attempting to reign in the frustration that was beginning to boil over inside him. Taking several deep inhales of oxygen, he tried in vain to keep his voice sounding civil. "Somebody wanna remind me why we even bother coming here? 'Cause I'm having a real hard time remembering why."

"Yeesh, ease off Rhys," Vana replied as she pulled a few darts away from the board. "We've all got our reasons for coming here... Mine typically involve kicking Gavin's ass in Holo-darts."

_**Thud!**_

"You were saying?" Gavin asked with a toothy grin, eying his own dart laying dead center on the board.

"Yeah," Boz chimed in as Vana scowled at her playing partner, "and Rhys, if you wanted me to bump up the thermostat all you had to do was ask."

The Toydarian swooped over the side of the bar counter, approaching a control panel on the adjacent wall. His blue three fingered hand met the number dial and turned it slightly to the right. For a moment all was calm, the noise from the vent trickling down to a mere hum. Soon however, there came a splutter of sparks from the machine… Then smoke.

"Frack!" the stubby creature swooped upward to inspect the damaged cooling device. Returning his gaze down towards the pilot he said, "Sorry Rhys, lemme make it up to you, rest of your drinks'll be on the house."

Rhys took in the scene with a heavy sigh.

"Nah, that's alright Boz…" he began before dropping a few credits on the counter, "Fresh air will do me some good anyways."

* * *

The alcohol burdened Bravo Ten drifted outside the entirely glass paneled establishment. While beautiful landscapes were the norm on the planet, Boz had insisted on secluding his restaurant with towering hedges on all sides.

In an attempt to see what lay beyond the greenery, Rhys peered upwards. At an earlier point in the day his blue eyes would have matched the cloudy skies. Now the Sun was falling, and with it came rare outcasts of purple and orange. Taking a seat on a rustic bench nearby he admired the sights high above, finding tranquility in it's calm stillness.

"Damn it!" Someone roared out from a Grav-Pool table towards the right of the building.

_So much for tranquility…_

"You moved that ball! It wasn't there before!"

"_What!?"_ Came an affronted reply from Porro Dolphe. "Arven, enough with your Sithspit! I won fair and square! And don't even accuse me of cheating, _everybody_ knows you sneak in aces when we play Sabaac."

It was clear to Rhys that this was not a dispute that the duo could solve on their own. Rising from the bench with a soft exhale, he meandered towards the players. Both were clad in grayed fatigues, far too focused on angrily staring each other down to notice Rhys's approach.

"Sounds like you guys are having fun."

"_Fun_?" Porro scoffed back at him. "Maybe if Arven stops trying to con me out of the money he owes."

"If anything you should be paying _me_," Arven argued in response. "I wiped the floor with you the last two games."

Rhys was beginning to change his opinion on the matter now, perhaps it was a not a dispute that could be solved. In a last ditch effort to keep things civil between the two he offered the only suggestion that came to mind.

"How about this, you both pretend like this game never happened, and nobody pays anyone _anything_."

This brought forth another prolonged staredown between players, immense dislike present on both sides. Finally, the older of the two sighed and said,

"Anything to get this scrub out of my face."

"Yeah?" Arven asked with a hint of surprise, amazed that his false accusations of cheating had served to get him out of a debt that in reality, he did not have the money to pay for. "Well, Dinee's been pretty quiet anyways… I better go make sure she hasn't gotten into another pack of deathsticks," the younger man murmured before disappearing back around the corner of the restaurant.

And so three pilots became two. Without his integrity being questioned, Porro was already beginning to fall back into his more common role of wise advice giver, enabling Rhys to step down from his impromptu one as mediator of Grav-Pool games gone wrong. Welcoming the shift in dynamic, he found himself mindlessly running his finger across one of the wall-like hedges as Porro went about returning the pool cues back into place.

Finally, after a moment of noiselessness there came a sigh and Rhys said, "I don't get it Porro."

Placing the last of the cues away, Bravo Two came to acknowledge Bravo Ten.

"Get what?"

"Some Gungan manages to squeeze himself on the throne for a temporary term and he thinks he can start shouting some shavit about 'fighting for peace' and owning the place."

"Well, technically he _does_," Porro tried to reason, but it was clear his younger companion would not be so easily swayed.

"Yeah, and technically anybody could write poetry if they really wanted too; it doesn't mean they should."

The flawed argument only seemed to elicit an amused chuckle from Porro.

"You're laughing at me," Rhys noted dryly, flaring his nostrils.

"No… No I'm not."

"_Yes_, yes you are."

"I was just thinking about how differently you'd take everything if you just accepted the idea that maybe this is all just the will of the Force."

It was no secret that Porro was nearly as big a supporter of the guiding entity known as the "Force" as Captain Panaka was its detractor. Not wanting to bring forth another debate on the subject, Rhys – who generally put little stock in "that otherworldy shavit" – decided to play along hypothetically.

"Well, if there _is_ a Force bumbling around here, it sure isn't trying that hard to keep things fair."

"But maybe this is fair, Rhys."

Before he could manage a shocked expression in reply, Porro was quick to explain himself.

"Think about it, how long have the Gungans been off stewing in the swamps, either here or on Ohma D'un? It's not by choice either, or are you forgetting about how restrictive Panaka's been about the border policies?"

Recalling a particular nasty incident that had required the combined air support of Delta and Bravo Flights, Rhys slowly nodded his head, only appearing to be in slight agreement.

"_Fine_, but that still doesn't change the fact that this Dun-Tar guy snuck onto the throne without anyone's approval and keeps talking about war in everything but name."

"Fair enough, but atleast he's up front about the idea of it, giving it to us straight, y'know? That's better than we could expect of most politicians under the same circumstances. He's being blunt about things Rhys, _that's_ probably why you don't like him."

Rhys could only offer a simple shrug in reply. The shattering of the Globe of Peace playing on a constant loop within his mind.

"Well," Porro finally breathed, "if honesty isn't something you look for in a King, I really don't know what else to tell you… What would you have us do differently?

A thoughtful silence began as Porro's younger companion built up his case.

"Petition to bring back some sort of people's democracy? A Monarchy's only good when you have the right guy in power… And I'd say right now we're about as far away from the right guy as possible."

Bravo Two did not appear to be buying into the idea one bit, so Rhys quickly followed up by saying,

"Only until Queen Amidala recovers that is, then we can all stop pretending like we know anything about politics."

Seeing another topic for conversation, and not wanting to pursue the current one any longer, Porro quickly interjected,

"How do you think she is doing anyways?"

"Well… She's in a coma so, probably not all that well."

It had been a tangent, a seemingly unnecessary one, but one that got Rhys' mind off more political matters.

"How are you taking it?

Clearly taken back by the specificness of the question, Rhys offered a quick shrug in response.

"Same way as everyone else, I guess."

"Everyone has their coping methods, it's no secret yours involves copious amounts of alcohol… How many glasses have you had anyways?"

"… Enough."

"_Rhys_."

"Enough, alright? I don't ask you how many creds you gambled away tonight, do I?"

"No… But I'd tell you if you did."

Rhys found himself swaying slightly in place, giving Porro all the information he needed.

"Y'know, I'd really be more careful if –"

But a newly approaching voice cut Porro off.

"They've found him!"

Both pilots turned to face their dart-playing and currently breathless comrade, Gavin Sykes.

"_Him?"  
_Clutching his side over similar looking fatigues as others, Gavin responded with,

"The assassin! The one who tried assassinating the Queen."

* * *

**Theed Hangar Bay**

**Twenty Minutes Later**

If there was anything that could motivate a band of pilots that were six hours off duty, it was this. But as Rhys took in the few that stood among him he became less certain. Those that had come – namely, the six who had been at the Swampy Lianorm - stood in a small semi-circular, Bravo Leader at the center of their attention.

"Half the Squad's not even here," Arven finally decided to make note of after a prolonged period of silence.

"That's because half the squad won't answer their damn commlinks," Leader Ric Olie retorted, the annoyance of a sleep deprived man clear in his voice.

"Anyways," Ric continued,"we can't stand here and wait because half of you uglies decided to go to bed early. It's no secret what we're about to do. We'll get briefed on the when and where once we're up in the air. You all know the drill until then, get inside your craft and start-up initial flight sequences, we leave within the hour."

And with that, they were dismissed. Despite the long and mentally pressing day the pilots had already been forced through, there was no slowing them down. Jogging along the wide and polished black floors of the Hangar, Rhys only stopped himself when he was upon a row of Astromech droids that lined the eastern wall.

"C'mon Wrench," Rhys said, activating the green and silver machine with a light tap on it's domed head. The half sized droid jolted to life, quickly extending its third wheeled leg and following Rhys over to a wide niche in the Hangar wall. Within which could be found Rhys's Naboo Starfighter.

As it would happen, the pair was not alone when they reached their craft. Hovering hurriedly around Rhys's craft was someone who looked remarkably like Boz. In fact, if it wasn't for the being's yellow engineering helmet and look of deep concentration, he would have been almost certain it _was_ in fact the restaurant owner. Then again, Rhys had never been particularly adept at deciphering different members of species, a trait he was rather embarrassed about.

Instead, Rhys offered the being a warm smile as he climbed up the access ladder and inside the craft, plopping himself down upon the cockpit's leather seating.

"How's it been Reti?"

The Toydarian didn't immediately look up, busily running along the lower half of the ship, closing maintenance hatches and hurriedly tapping things into his data tablet.

"How's it look like? I asked for a _day_ job, Rhys. Now they're expecting me to show up after hours with no extra pay."

"You and me both," the pilot responded knowingly as he studied the other members of Bravo Flight. They too had climbed into their respective cockpits, a similiar parade of engineers surrounding each of their craft. From across the Hangar he spotted Vana giving him an encouraging thumbs up. Returning the favor he said, "Heh, I think we should all give Nym a call sometime, I'm sure his offer is still on the table… Least he would run sane hours."

"I might just do that…" Reti mumbled over a loud metallic clicking noise that emitted from somewhere below the bow of the Starfighter.

"What the!" Rhys exclaimed as he peeked his head over the side of his N-1's canopy window, "Reti, what the frack are those!?"

The Toydarian appeared alarmed at the exclamation for a moment, but his demeanor quickly calmed.

"Oh yeah, these are incendiary grenades… King personally ordered they be placed on each of your craft. Hell of a payload he's given here …. You taking out something big?" Reti asked, clearly unaware of the details surrounding their mission.

"_Someone_ big. The only thing I know for certain is we're gonna make some frackers pay," Rhys stated with one eye closed and his thumb over the trigger fire of his laser cannons, imagining the assassin standing within his target reticule.

"Just keep it safe out there Dallows," Reti advised as he floated a step back from the craft, typing a few things into his datapad with a sense of finality.

"Yeah, you do the same Re-" Rhys attempted to respond before his laser-proof canopy window was sealed tight.

All was silent and still inside the cockpit, but it did not remain that way for long. Once the primary ignition had been activated the dashboard quickly came to life, panel upon panel flashing with statistical information and tactical readouts. In the next moment something was audibly clacked into a socket towards the back of his craft. Hearing a familiar whirl of noise he smiled and said,

"Good to have you again, Wrench."

A series of navigation lights were activated along the three pronged tails of his Starfighter, indicating they were moments away from take-off.

Reti had backed up a good ten meters from the craft, swiftly counting down from five with both of his three-fingered hands. An instant later the Toydarian waved his stubby arms up and down – the all clear signal.

As seven craft rose from their nesting spots and drifted away from the Hangar and out into the open air, the pilots within were changing. No longer would they be defenders of peace, soon their actions would lead them to become bringers of war.

* * *

Silence and cool night air were all that greeted the half assembled members of Bravo Flight as they ascended to upwards of 30,000 meters.

"All wings report in," Bravo Leader finally chimed in through their comm channel.

"Bravo Ten standing by," Rhys stated, beginning the string that was soon to follow.

"Bravo Seven standing by," Vana followed up shortly thereafter.

"Bravo Three standing by." Immediately rang Arven's reply.

"Bravo Six standing by," Gavin murmured next.

"Bravo Two standing by," Porro conveyed, determination evident throughout the veteran's voice.

"Bravo Five standing by," Dinee finished, ending their small check-in.

A sense of resignation seemed to set in at the finish, each one recognizing that what they lacked in their usual numbers would have to be made up in pure skill.

"I'm receiving a message from the Royal Palace, patching it through," Bravo Leader echoed throughout the six other cockpits.

"Greetings pilots of Bravo Flight," the King began in a drawled regal tone that was tempting Rhys into punching his audio receptor.

"I realize that word has likely already passed, but in an effort to ensure you are all aware of the task at hand, I will reiterate. Intel has surfaced on the location of the perpetrator of the Queen's assassination attempt during the Retaking of Naboo Anniversary Celebrations. In an effort to keep this information as confidential as possible, you seven individuals will be the only others privy to the following information. I warn you that the coming task will test both your strength as well as your loyalty to your King. Anyone uncomfortable with its execution must stand down now, before I reveal anything. Your remaining here is a sign that you are in total acceptance of what I am about to ask, and will accept full responsibility for all consequences that come with it."

_Really doing a great job of selling us on this one…_

Despite others sharing similar thoughts, all seven craft remained airborne.

"Very good," Dun-Tar noted with approval. "Intel has led us to believe the assassin is a Corellian, male, and in his early 30s. Of most importance, we've discovered the local government of Port Landien to be the one's housing and providing for this criminal."

Murmurs of surprise followed the news. None could envision a group of citizens of Naboo willingly housing such a traitor, but the King was not to be questioned.

"Understanding this, I think it's quite clear what must be done. You will wipe them out… _All_ of them. Each of your craft have been outfitted with high grade fragmentation grenades. Port Landien is a small city, containing a population of no more than five hundred; the explosives supplied to you will be more than sufficient for completing this task."

"But sir-" Bravo Leader tried to interject, clearly not enthused by the idea of laying waste to an entire city.

"This is a direct order, Captain. I recognize that some of you may hold reluctance with what I am asking you to do, but frankly…" The King paused here as if searching for the proper words to choose, but ultimately sighed and resigned himself to what he was originally thinking, "I do not care."

The statement left a bout of shocked and disgruntled faces among the pilots.

"Anyone who does not agree to pull through on this task is now committing an act of treason. And I need not remind you that the only suitable punishment for treason is death… I will wait be waiting in eager anticipation for the results, Captain. Good evening, and good luck."

Of all the many awkward pauses Bravo Flight had experienced that night, the one that followed the King's departure was the longest. Such a prolonged quietness brought forth the bravest in people. Rhys had mounting fears and loosening lips from a night of a drinking. He was about to do something he had never dared to do before in the midst of an operation – criticize.

"Those Sim runs have been preparing us for _this_? He wants us to fire upon a defenseless vacationing spot for Kriff's sake! You seriously can't expect us to follow through on these orders, Bravo Leader."

Voiceless static followed the diatribe.

_Nobody's agreeing… Why is NO ONE agreeing?_

Deciding to push his luck, the young pilot continued.

"Fighting for peace was what the King said at the Commemoration Ceremony, wasn't it? That's like frakking for chastity, that's like -"

"_Dallows!_" the single word was all that Bravo Leader needed to cut through his rant like a knife.

"I don't give a damn about your political beliefs. One more word and I'll stick you in chains myself. That goes for _all_ of you, he didn't mention treason for the fun of it, we should know that by now."

The Captain let reality set in for the pilots for a moment.

"We have our orders, and we're going to complete them."

* * *

**Port Landien**

**Thirty Minutes Later**

It was a rare moment of bliss for the Councilman. A pause in the merciless rollercoaster that had become his political career.

On the evening of the King's commemoration, Sio was not presiding over the Council, or engulfing himself in a mountain of paperwork, or even commenting on the growing petition that called for his ascension to the throne. No, he was seated in the front row of a beautiful seaside chapel, dressed in a custom-tailored tuxedo.

Very few events could pull him away from his political endeavors, but his son's wedding was one of them. No matter how ill-timed as it may have been. No matter how many times his commlink rumbled to life inside his trouser pocket with politicians begging to speak to him. He would remain here, fully engulfed in the moment. No distractions – just his son's wedding.

But as the organ player began his ceremonial tune and all one hundred in attendance rose for the veiled bride's approach, he couldn't help but notice the specks of yellow that were growing in size just outside the stained glass windows.

Soon it wouldn't matter who was on the other end of his comm, or how he would respond to the petition, or even that his son was moments away from being married to a beautiful girl.

Soon all that mattered would be life and death.

* * *

It began without full sensory recognition.

Swept up in a whirl of adrenaline, the deafening crack of explosives impacting with the ground were all but mute to the seven of them. All that mattered was the V-formation their crafts clung to, ensuring the greatest possible death radius.

They soared over smoldering homes, finding an untouched chapel in the midst of chaos. Grenades shattered like rocks through it's stained windows, laying still on the panicked floors for a moment before erupting into a blaze of splintered wood and searing flesh. Death-bringers remaining fully unaware of just whose lives it was they were ending.

Only was it when Rhys heard the pained cries of children far below did the gravity of his actions fully dawn on him. It would be murderous to continue, but with so much already destroyed it to would be foolish to stop.

So they scoured on, promising blood and smoke wherever their dagger-like configuration brought them.

In a matter of minutes it all came to an end. Their convoy of craft sailed away from the scene, leaving night to devour what remained of the city. Victims of their raid had been forcefully gifted with eternal slumber, and it was all Rhys could do to not wish the same upon himself.

* * *

_**A/N: And so ends another chapter. It's been in the works for awhile, glad to FINALLY have it out to the masses. Thanks for read, and I hope to see you all next time!**_


	5. Of Instigation and Terror

**V**

**Port Landien**

**48 BBY**

Weeds were speckled across Port Landien's gleaming bays of sand. Ocean water gently passed and receded over the shoreline, feebly attempting to cast away the pieces of greenery as it went.

Six year old Rhys Dallows watched the proceedings from a safe distance away, disdain apparent on his face. He hated water, the idea of being in it even moreso.

And yet here he found himself seating, clad in nothing but green swimming trunks, water's treacherous grip a few meters away. Knowing what was soon to come, the young boy sighed before dropping fully to his back, fair skin and blond hair meshing with the sandy grounds. Slowly opening closed eyes, he found a limestone wall staring upside down back at him.

Turning his body over, he began to shift his line of sight upwards, travelling the length of the rocky cliff. Resting at the edge-most top of the peaks was a marbled building, stain glass checkering it's wall – a chapel. It was a marker Rhys often noted on his frequent family vacations to Port Landien, the familiar sight always bringing him some much needed ease.

Still peering up at the structure, an uncontainable yelp of surprise was emitted when a calloused hand found its way to his shoulder. Rhys' blue-eyed gaze reluctantly travelled up to meet that of his father's. Despite the reassuring six foot form (also clad in swimming trunks) that stood next to Rhys, fear still plagued his mind, forcing him to put forth one last ditch effort.

"Dad… I _really_ don't think this is a good idea… I can't swim, or float, or function anywhere close to a normal human being when I'm in the water."

"We'll take it slow," his father offered with an encouraging smile. "First steps not an easy one, but it's always the most important: you've just gotta try, Rhys."

So try he would. Rhys approached the water hesitantly, shivering as the tide's cool waters crept at his feet. After much prodding, he willed himself forward, daring to venture as far as his tippy toes allowed him. Over the course of the next thirty minutes he practiced how to kick, float, and began to understand how to guide himself with his arms, all with the reassuring grasp of his father keeping him afloat.

Very quickly it came time to pull away the training wheels.

"Alright, you're doing great," his father said happily, still gripping his son firmly around the stomach. "You see those rocks over there?"

Rhys' tracked his father's finger to a conglomeration of stones about ten meters away.

"All I want you to do is swim to that… By yourself. Think you can do that?"

"… No, not really," the boy replied, an uncertain look on his face.

"Well, even if you can't, what _are_ you going to do?" Rhys' father asked with a smile, playfully poking him in the side. "Huh? What're you gonna do?"

"Try," he responded back with a chuckle, eyes now fixated on the water in determination.

"Well then, good luck," his father breathed before relinquishing his grip and floating a step back. Immediately Rhys found himself beginning to sink, but quickly propelled himself upwards with a kick of his feet. Knowing that it wouldn't be enough, he involved his arms as well, striking out at the water as rapidly as he could. It was a far cry from the simple swimming-stroke his father had been attempting to teach him, but it worked.

"He- Hey! I think I'm doing it!" The young boy exclaimed, hardly hiding his reluctant joy.

"Yeah! I'm really doing go –"

Suddenly something was pulling him down – a pair of hands, four clawed digits on each, digging deep into his skinny ankles.

"_**Rhys!"**_

His father cried out, lurching forward to grab him a moment too late. Now completely beneath the surface, water was all around the six year old, streaming through his nose, engulfing his lungs. Farther and farther he was tugged downwards, the once blue waters turning to abyss-like shadow. His leg was a bloody mess now, but focus was hardly put on this, for his small airways were also beginning to close up, already on the verge of collapsing. Eyesight seemed to blur and willpower began to fade, things growing dark...

Yet just as all seemed to be ending, the scene began to change itself before him. It came at first without his recognition, for his eyes had remained tightly shut, but slowly he came to realize that clawed talons no longer pierced his leg, and the once pounding pressure that had terrorized his ears was no more. The stilled silence that now greeted him was far more menacing.

Slowly his eyes opened, confirming what he was already fearfully guessing. No longer was he trapped beneath a dark and suffocating passage of water, now he found himself elsewhere, a decimated plaza, chunks of marble strewn far from their tiled homes.

"What, I –" Rhys stopped just as soon as he had spoken. His voice was several pitches lower; simultaneously he came to realize his scope of the world had risen to match that of his father's. In the time it had taken him to drown he had grown fully into adulthood.

All of a moment was spent marveling at this development, his mind seemingly accepting it without question, and choosing instead to focus on where he was, it becoming clear very quickly now. This was the town that encompassed Port Landien, but it was far from the Port Landien he knew.

He was no longer at the bay, now about a hundred meters higher, and much closer to the chapel that he had admired from afar before. In fact, he was standing right next to the structure… What remained of it that was. The stain glass windows were no more, replaced by shadow and smoke.

_Forward._

A voice suddenly urged him as he looked on at the structure. A voice found only in his head, but one that wasn't his. Instead of questioning the command, Rhys found himself uncontrollably obeying it, drifting into the smoldered church. A single body was to be found half-buried beneath the wreckage within. Rhys took a nervous step back from the man, but again the voice sounded.

_Forward._

Understanding all at once, Rhys found himself crouching down next to the elderly balding man, the man's once long silver beard scorched completely away. Brushing away the scattered debris that lay on top of the being, Rhys turned to look him in his graying eyes.

"Here, lemme help you up."

"No, no Rhys… I can't."

"I – how do you know my name?"

Pain in the aging man's eyes made it clear that any explanation would be too lengthy and agonizing for him to deliver.

"Fine, it doesn't matter anyways. Look, I know it hurts. Believe me, I get it_, _two minutes ago I was six and my leg was being torn off by some… thing, but you've gotta try, you _have_ to. The voice won't let me leave you alone, I have to get you out – get you free from here."

"It's too late," the aging man just barely managed to croak out, "the dice has already been cast, nothing can stop him now."

"Stop who?"

All at once the man's face began to shrivel, wrinkles unveiling wrinkles, his skin turning darker than the soot that surrounded the pair. Eyes appeared to bulge as their sockets regressed to nothingness.

Speaking with all the urgency of borrowed time the old man said, "He did this to me Rhys, he and he alone, but _they_…"

A shrunken finger drifted towards the sky, Rhys following in direction until he saw it: seven yellowed vessels, each tipped with a chromed bow that marked knowing smiles for the hellish round of explosives just released from their respective hulls. Drifting closer and closer, until…

* * *

**Theed Apartment Complex**

**Present Time**

**Late Night**

He came awake in his bed gasping for air, sweat dousing his face and pillows.

_That was one hell of a nightmare…_

Bloodshot eyes were tiredly wiped, Rhys unintentionally casting enough sleep away that any attempt to drift away again was stubbornly refused. His eyes chose instead to focus on the cooling vents directly above his bed. For a long time he gazed upwards, honing his attention on the soft hum of the airway, it's ebb and flow beginning to match the slowed beats of his heart.

Life dedicated to such a task was a fine way to exist. An easy and simple way… Yet his life was anything but simple.

With that cold fact hardened into his brain, he arose from bed. It had been happening a lot recently, his awakening from sleep in the middle of the night, so much so that he had begun to develop a two-step routine to cast himself back into the clutches of sleep. The first step was always an easy one, simply drink a glass of blue milk.

Stepping out of his cramped and cluttered bedroom, Rhys found himself ambling down the apartment's single hallway, narrowly avoiding piles of laundry and unread flight manuals as he went. Finding his half-awake body at the other end of the passage, he took a right and shivered as bare feet met the cool tiled floors of his kitchen. Not even bothering to press the light activator, he quickly crossed the expanse, opening the chrome refrigerator door, and began pouring himself his selected beverage.

So busy was he on this task that he did not come to acknowledge an ominous red light billowing in from the adjacent hallway. It was only when he had finished pouring, turned, and was moments away from sipping his drink that he spied the enlarging light.

"Sithspit!"

He cursed out in alarm, his already half empty glass dropping in the process.

_It's… __**It**__._

The beast, it had to be the beast. The one that had clawed out at him beneath the waters in his dream, had drowned him, had been moments away from ending his life.

The mere thought sent an influx of adrenaline shooting through his sleep-ridden joints. Bounding towards the nearest kitchen drawer, he tripped over a chair (likely because he had never bothered to turn the lights on…), and went crashing to the ground with an agonized, "ouch".

Ignoring the pain that radiated throughout his body, Rhys forced himself upwards, finding support against a nearby shelf. Finally tearing open the targeted drawer, he found the item of his desire: a Merr-Sonn Produced ELG-3A blaster pistol. Clicking the safety off the weapon, he leveled it at the adjacent door, taking aim at the quickly approaching hue of red light.

"Come on! No use hiding!"

Obediently the intruder rolled into sight, a mixture of relief and anger following its arrival.

"Ugh, _Wrench!"_

The domed machine chirped out a questioning tone, it's LED-lit radar eye tilting up to meet that of it's owner.

"For frack's sake, I told you to shut off for the night. That way, when I decide to wake up in the middle of the night to get some damn milk I don't have you sneaking up and scaring me half to death."

"My apologies, sir," the droid began, it's monotone voice shocking Rhys even further awake before he remembered the astromech's recently installed ability to communicate in Basic when connected to his home's speaker overlay and data mainframe, "I was simply doing the nightly scheduled security perimeter check."

"Yeah?" Rhys responded with his back turned, crouching down with a rag in his hand to wipe away the mix of glass and dairy. "Well you should be doing it when I'm not half naked… and drinking milk."

"Sir, you programmed this protocol yourself. "

Rhys slowly tilted his head up to the Astromech, then back down to the newly cleaned floor. A painfully awkward silence ensued, finally broken by his rising and entering the living room. It was time to stimulate his brain with some late Holovision.

Flipping past Twi'lek themed adult entertainment and Rodian-helmed late night talk shows, Rhys ultimately settled on an emergency Holonews broadcast. Cutting in mid-report, his weary eyes glanced over the words at the bottom of the screen.

**_Failed assassin found, high-ranking official in Nabooian Government…_**

"… Keep in mind that this is a developing situation, we urge those of you at home not to do anything rash, information is still coming in."

Rhys shifted upward from his lounging position on the couch, eyes unwavering from the large screen, the only source of light in the room.

"As of earlier this evening, it was confirmed by the Royal Palace that eldest Councilman Sio Bibble was the one who ordered the assassination attempt on the Queen. It is claimed that he did so in the hopes of succeeding her on the throne, believing that he had enough support from the Council to be voted in interim."

_Sio Bibble_. Rhys' heart churned just at the sound of the name, mind blaring back to the nightmare he was two minutes removed from, seemingly connecting the ailing man to the one before him on the screen.

"No…"

It couldn't be true. Not Sio Bibble. The man had been such good friends with his father, had voluntarily taken care of a teenaged him in the wake of his father's death…

Done out of guilt perhaps? The man only ever seemed to be interested in business prospects with his father. In fact, his father had signed off on a 50-50 share plasma mining deal with the man just days before that fateful pirate attack… Days before his father died.

"Bastard!"

His emptied glass was flung against the opposite wall, a coffee table quickly uprooted from its position with a disgusted kick.

Just how many people had Sio ordered to be killed? His position in the government surely gave him leverage, a wealth of shady contacts, an even wealthier list of unrelenting political rivals…

Rhys couldn't believe this was happening, no sense could be found in it. The entire planet had gone to hell, all because of the power-stricken greed of one politician.

* * *

**Royal Palace**

**Early the Follow Morning**

Yet again the stage had been set. Whether it was for Remembrances, Coronations, or Press Conferences – as it was today - Theed had never been host to so many events in so short a span. Citizens were torn like no other in what had been one of Naboo's most tumultuous times, perhaps even surpassing that of the Trade Federation Blockade.

And the being behind it at all, both the instigator and reconciler, the King himself, stepped into view. All the whispers and murmurs stopped as he stood at the podium.

"Greetings, my people. I wish I come to you under more joyous times, but it is not to be. The news I will soon convey to you does not come lightly, or without a great deal of shock on my part, for we are found at our most vulnerable state on this day…"

For the first time since taking up the position, emotion was clearly found on King Dun-Tar's face.

"Following the assassination attempt on our great planet's Queen, I quickly ordered that a task force be assembled with one goal in mind: Identify the assassin and bring him or her to justice. As was revealed yesterday, that initiative was partially fulfilled, for a number of comm channel transcripts were discovered that incriminated Councilman Bibble, clearly confirming him as the one who ordered the assassination attempt on the Queen."

The King paused once again, his hardened face indicating that he was about to broach new informational territories.

"Along with this news has also come word of the Port Landien Bombing. Before I delve into the specifics of this topic, one thing must be made undoubtedly clear: this was _**not **_a government sanctioned order. This was not approved by me, any of my delegates, or anyone else with ties to the Monarchy."

Having issued his disclaimer, the Gungan gave a small pause before proceeding.

"To truly understand what happened, one must know the following. The Intel relating to Councilman Bibble's involvement in the assassination was leaked out, by whom is still not yet clear. Unfortunately, this news came to light to several Royal Military Divisions, including that of Bravo Flight. Seven of the twelve pilots of Bravo Flight decided to take matters into their own hands. _They_ were the ones who decided to bomb the city of Landien, they were the ones who killed all those people. An all out man hunt has begun for these individuals, whose names are as followed: Ric Olie, Porro Dolphe, Arven Wendrik, Gavin Sykes, Dinee Ellerbee, Vana Sage, and Rhys Dallows."

Gasps and whispers of outrage were what received the news.

"These seven, along with any who are found that may have aided them along their path, are now declared traitors of Naboo. When found they will be detained, placed on trial, and if found guilty… Punished by death."

* * *

**Theed Apartment Complex**

**Roughly the Same Time**

The embrace of slumber was a soft, yet easily interrupted one. Or so it tended to be, while Rhys didn't manage sleep often it was always a well guarded gift, one that he valiantly tried to defend. So the incessant ringing of his comm was ignored over, and over, and over, and -

"Oh, for kriff's sake!

He swatted at the device's speaker button, his face still buried in a couch pillow.

"Yeah?"

"_Rhys!"_

Still dazed eyes turned in the general direction of his commlink.

"Vana…?"

"Why the hell haven't you been answering your comm? Never mind that – look, you probably already know this, but you need to get out_. _Avoid everyone, _especially_ the RSF, hell, they're probably already at your apartment_. _Keep your head down, and avoid direct contact with anyone else… We'll be waiting in Widow's Valley."

"But - Vana!"

_**Click!**_

His body shifted upwards, hardly making sense of his comrade's message.

_Widow's Valley? "We?"... Why?_

"_Master Dallows –"_

The sudden robotic outpour from his living room sound system shocked him for a moment, but he recovered enough to spy the speaker who stood a few meters away.

"Y'know Wrench, I think I liked you better when you couldn't talk."

The insult hardly stopped the defiant Astromech from continuing.

"_I realize that you did not wish for me to wake you up, but now that you __**are**__ awake, I find it pertinent to tell you that at least three individuals have broken into the basement of the apartment, all members of the Royal Security Force, all likely here to detain you. Statistical evidence leads me to one advisable course of action: __**run.**__"_

Coupling this news with the warning he had just received, Rhys found himself forgoing the usual feeling of shock and moved directly into that of anger.

"Now you choose not to wake me up? _Now!? _Damn it Wrench! I could fr-_"_

Echoes of footsteps from the basement stairway stopped Rhys midsentence. Still half asleep, things weren't exactly clicking for the young pilot. All he knew was that having three Royal Security Force Members sneak into his apartment unannounced was a bad thing.

_Especially when Vana's the one that calls to warn me about them…_

He noted the small holdout pistol that he had pulled from the kitchen drawer the night before, something which he – quite alarmingly – had brought along and left lying on the couch-side table. Far too alarmed to lament his carelessness, he grabbed the blaster and examined the dial on its side, quickly setting the weapon to stun.

With the three intruders but moments away from reaching the top of the stairs, Rhys had given up any notion of escaping. Raising the firearm shoulder-level, the young pilot readied himself for what was to come. He would have to stand his ground and fight, likely moments away from taking three men on blow for blow, almost assuredly for life or death. He was far from confident in his ability, but he would have to fake it as best he could. A defiant pawn in a mastermind's ever twisting game.


	6. Of Evasion and Failure

**VI**

**Theed Apartment Complex**

The thunderous echo of footsteps pounded ever closer, shaking the apartment's floors, walls, and Rhys' confidence with every stride. Despite his finger trembling over the firearm's trigger the pilot only found himself becoming more resolute in his decision. It was too late to run. He would have to fight.

Yet it appeared his stubby companion was not so determined. The soft rumble of servomotors disturbing the tiled floors beside Rhys broke him from his otherwise centered attention.

"What the - wait, Wrench! Where you going?!"

The blue and white patterned astromech didn't bother with a response, instead rolling into the adjacent hallway and disappearing out of sight.

"Motherkriffing droid..." he murmured beneath his breath, shooting his glance back towards the stairwell's opening. There were no echoing footsteps there to greet him, replaced now by the shaking forms of two Royal Security Officers, both teenaged and seemingly as nervous as himself.

Rhys hesitated at the sight, lowering his weapon for the slightest of moments.

"Really? _This_ is who the RSF decides to detain me with?" the pilot asked, finding himself more offended than threatened.

The braver of the duo stepped forward in response, pushing off the stair's railing with one hand, the other wrapped threateningly around his silver-finished pistol.

"Stand down," the young officer ordered, venom unbridled in his voice.

Rhys regarded the two again for a moment. The leading figure was lanky, a crop of jet-black hair hidden by his combat helmet. The other wore a similar helmet, but his piercing gaze was disturbed by a patch over his left eye. They were both well-built, muscles fully filling out their tan blaster-proof vests. Despite Rhys' earlier incredulity, he was finding himself less sure in his ability to escape from the duo.

"Listen-"

_"Stand down_, Dallows," the intruder repeated again, both hands now gripped assuredly over his blaster.

He was highly unaccustomed to being held at gunpoint, but a bout of overconfidence told Rhys that if he said the right things he could probably slink his way out of the situation relatively unscathed.

"Look, if you lower your weapon I'll lower mine - _clearly_ there's been some sort of misunderstanding," Rhys justified, languishing in his role as voice of reason.

"There won't be any misunderstanding this!"

Upon its triggered command, searing plasma was jetted out from an inner chamber of the officer's gun, the thin streak narrowly whizzing past Rhys' shoulder, and making it clear that there would be no slinking away. He dove behind the nearest couch for cover, a slew of curses accompanying him as the rogue laser scorched the adjacent wall. Dazed but mostly unharmed, Rhys could hear the officer's shuffling footsteps, a bout of disarray accompanying them.

"Asyr, what the hell was that!?" came the alarmed response of the shooter's companion. "We were ordered _not_ too shoot!"

"Lay off it, Typho, you and me both know that the King doesn't want to bother with this scum. Better to save him the trouble of a trial altogether."

Frustration began to boil over inside of the twenty-two year old. Not only had they broken into his house without warrant, not only were they demanding his arrest, now they were implying he wasn't worth that filthy Gungan's time. Not bothering to make sure his pistol was still geared to stun, he charged upwards, unleashing rounds of fire with mad disregard. Despite doubts about his aim, he found the first bolt catching Asyr directly in the throat. A retching cough was all that escaped the trigger-happy officer's lips as he crumpled to the ground, paralyzed by the weapon's energy.

The next flurry of shots weren't so lucky, flaring wide as their target hit the ground for cover. Rhys did the same, slamming the coffee table on to its side as another round of fire was relayed his way in retaliation. Soon enough the white-walled living room was alive with colors, emeralds mixing with crimsons as the two unloosed round after round of energy upon each other's furniture-protected positions. Growing alarmed by the exchange and low on ammunition, Rhys sought an alternative. He found one in the glint of a chandlier that lay overhead, directly above his foe's position. Without another thought his pistol's barrel was aimed upwards, sending the light fixture cascading downward with one concentrated burst of laser-fire.

In a chaotic display of ballistics and charring circuitry, Rhys found his assailant pinned beneath the chandelier, scattered breathing his only confirmation that the officer was still alive. Slowly rising, he found himself cautiously approaching the immobilized duo, weapon raised on the off chance one of them had energy left to retaliate. After a moment an adrenaline-induced smile crossed his face. He had just taken down two members of the Royal Guard. Him - Rhys Dallows - a _pilot_, someone who hadn't so much as touched a blaster since a survival training session several months prior.

Very quickly however, a new thought crossed his mind as his gaze scoured over the two desposed officers.

_Hold on... Didn't Wrench say there was three?  
_

_**Slam!**_

A hollow vase ricochetted against Rhys' head in response to the wordless query, forcing his aching body into a tumble roll across the living room's wood floors. Eyesight began to flicker, his nervous system registering the brunt of the blow all at once. His hands soon balled into fists, a feeble attempt to cope with the threat of unconsciousness. Breathing heavily, he shot his glance upwards to regard the latest intruder. Meeting Security Chief Panaka under any circumstance was almost assuredly a bad thing, but when coupled with a scowl and his pistol barrel reared between the eyes, Rhys knew he was in trouble.

The feeling was only furthered by the increasing twinges of pain that emanated from the vase's impact with his neck, his body strewn onto the floor at an awkward angle as a result. The two combatants remained frozen this way for a time. One crumpled to the ground, the other standing above him, breathing heavily, his blaster never wavering.

"_Why_?" the Captain asked, his rugged voice shaking what remained of the shattered chandelier.

Rhys found his mind reeling with incredulity. Years worth of contempt finally pouring out all at once upon his superior.

"Why'd you break into my apartment and sic your monkey lizards on me? That's a damn good question."

His dark skinned assailant faltered for a moment, clearly unaccostmed to being talked to with such disrespect. Quickly recomposing himself, he said, "Fine. Better to start with something that won't make me smash your head in. Why did you retaliate against my officers?"

"Probably because if I hadn't, one of them would've shot me dead - it was self defense, Captain."

"Self defense, huh?" Panaka responded nonchalantly, flicking the safety off of his own S-5 blaster pistol. "I guess what I'm doing is planetary defense, then."

"No, Captain wai-"

Just then, a familiar whirl of noise sounded from outside the window, an engine reverberating on a level somewhere beneath the duo. The whistle of an astromech followed immediately thereafter, and Rhys realized all too soon where Wrench had disappeared off to. Panaka seemed to realize this at the same time, his gruff form inching between Rhys' position and the potential exit point.

But the pilot was too fast for him, ducking beneath the Captain's outstretched arm and sprinting as fast as his ailing limbs allowed him to. Without full self-regard he went slamming through the blaster-scorched window, glass puncturing his side as he found himself sailing further and further down until...

_**Crack!**_

The sickening thud hardly provided insight into just how much agony now radiated across his back, not at all assuaged by the rigid leather of the backseat of his Seraph-class Landspeeder. While diving from a two story building to reach the viridescent craft wasn't the most traditional approach, it was clear his goal of escaping had been partially-achieved. Still attempting to deal with the resulting pain, the echo of boots clacking with his kitchen tiles up above told him Panaka was in a mad scramble to find him. He had to move.

That notion was only furthered by the sight that now lay before him. Two more flashspeeders surrounded the apartment complex, chock full of security officers, all of which had seen his daring maneuver from window to speeder.

As they began to stir, Rhys decided he needed no further convincing, hurdling into the driver's seat of the two-seater transport while jabbing at its primary ignition. By the time the officers had halved the distance to the speeder he was off, blaring away into Theed's sand-sculpted streets as wind whipped his face. It was only as he escaped the circled complex and rounded that first panic-stricken turn that he realized a valuable friend had been left behind. He couldn't go back for Wrench though, no matter how much he wanted to. Not with an armada of pursuing officers now making themselves known by way of their craft's mounted tank guns. Much was lauded about the Royal Security's flashspeeders, but their subtlety was not one of them.

Rhys jerked the slim vessel down a shadowy back alley, cringing as his opposition's cannonfire resounded against a slab of wallspace he had occupied moments before. He knew the streets well, their meandering paths etched into his mind from one underground swooprace too many. There weren't many differences between those races and Rhys' current predicament - perhaps the most glaring was that their military-issued repulsorlifts outclassed his own by several times. If it came down to a straightaway their convoy of speeders would have the time and combined firepower to tear him apart.

_Unless..._

There was one straightaway that they wouldn't win out on. One straightaway that no one could win out on. He found himself shrugging at the acknowledgement, figuring a tie was better than a loss.

_Especially when a loss ends with my own burning carcass..._

By the time Rhys had cleared the back alley, his mind had been set, slicing betweens hordes of incoming and outgoing traffic as he mentally prepared himself for the journey still to come. Soon enough he was angling upwards, traversing an inclining freeway as the threat of an unobscured sun brimmed from the horizons further ahead. Shielding his eyes, Rhys cursed as he felt his seat lurch forward. At first worried he had collided with a passing voorpak, he found the sight awaiting him as he turned his head to be far more sinister. It appeared that much more than a darkened alleyway would be required to lose Panaka and his drove of cannon-armed repulsorcraft.

Darting here and there, the half dozen crafts continued their swarm-like pursuit of Rhys, dodging flowerbed-laden medians and oncoming speeders as the freeway leveled out into a cobbled viaduct. A series of arches supported the bridge a dozen meters above a glistening lake, watery reflections of Rhys' craft and its pursuers interplaying with the tides. Traffic seemingly cleared out upon their continued haste, Rhys venturing a guess that Panaka had had the foresight to shut down the overpass beforehand.

And thus began the straightaway, the lances of cannonfire all around him a constant reminder that he didn't have much time left. Despite his adversary's relentless assaults Rhys still found himself hesitating, knowing what his endpoint would bring the conglomerate of duty-bound soldiers. Still, it was their lives or his. And their actions had already made it clear that there could be no in between.

Bracing himself for impact, Rhys forced the control yoke into a jarring turn, one that sent the craft's emerald hull colliding with the bridge's side railing. After a moment of spark-flailing contact the rusted durasteel gave way, shredding an opening in the safety rail that his landspeeder poured through. By a mix of intention and gravity his craft was sent careening downwards, further and further until the repulsor engines counteracted, leaving him to hang a meter over the ocean waters. Up above, his pursurers were sent screeching to a halt, colliding and vying for the gaping hole, a pack of hungry wolves thirsting for their next catch.

Already well-initiated with the officer's intent, Rhys wasted no more time anchored in his current water-bound position, shoving the throttle forward and wincing as the hull gave a groan in protest. Still, he did not relent, forcing the speeder to reach its max speed, contrails of water trailing behind him as he sailed further away from the bridge. In moments, his chasers had coordinated themselves, aided no doubt by a barking of orders by Panaka, and had squeezed within the gap, splashing themselves upon the waters.

And so the chase continued, a string of bathing suit-clad onlookers now playing host to their spectacle. Rhys found himself disheartened, having hoped that his hazardous ploy would've bought him more time. The resounding impact of turret-emitted plasma meeting the water all around him made it clear that this was not to be the case. Still, there was one last card he had yet to play, and this one would prove to be the most effective of them all.

Scouring onwards, he lessened the pace of his craft, gradually at first, feeling the surges of laserfire impacting closer and closer. Then, all at once, he sent himself flailing rightward, shooting out of the watery grip and onto the sandy verge that lay on its side. Driver inexperience shown clearly in his assailants, three of them overestimating their turn radius, colliding in a show of spark and flame as a result. A triumphant grin was plastered on his face as he nimbled upwards over the ragged dune that lay before him. A grin that quickly gave way to a troubled look.

The whirring of repulsors mixed with flailing sand still filled his eardrums, a glance at his rearview mirror confirming that one of his pursuers had outlasted the surmounting carnage and was still stubbornly following him. All the while he could hear the protests of his own engine growing in sound, likely due in part to the mounting sand that was now cycling within its turbines. Despite it all, he urged the craft forward, its speed faltering as his determination grew.

The scenery around hunter and hunted was changing, the sandy dune they raced across quickly giving way to a new landmark, a more natural landmark, one that overlooked the Royal Palace's domed structure, and solidified its picturesque surroundings. Rhys had left one body of water to enter another, the difference being who was allowed to skim this water's surface, and more importantly, what lay at its end. The answer to the first was quite simple: not him. Or anyone else for that matter, the secluded lake he was fast approaching was private property of the Royal Palace.

Still, he defiantly reeled from sandy dune to tree-enclosed river. The shift had been abrupt, his aging vessel loudest in its acknowledgement of the change of scenery. No longer was just its engine groaning in protest though, now its entire frame was shaking, noise giving way to wafts of smoke, what speed it still amped regressing at an alarming pace. All the while his sole predator stalked closer, forgoing its turrets now that it could keep up with his slowing craft. Soon enough it was upon him, Security Speeder side by side with his own Civilian-class. The man next to the driver that was there to greet him was no less welcoming - Panaka's face as smug and punchable as ever.

Rhys swallowed as the familiar pistol barrel was again pointed at him, his craft still daring to jet forward. There was no way he'd let it end like this.

"This has gone on long enough," Panaka called out, his gruff voice ringing over the scintillating waters, echoes of another Press Conference brimming down from the onlooking Palace.

Rhys continued onwards as if oblivious to the words bouncing off of him, unflinching to the weapon that lay meters from his face.

"We've already had our share of war, Dallows!"

"I'm not starting any wars!" Rhys finally pleaded, still wrestling to keep his speeder on its intended course, knowing what its quickly approaching endpoint would bring.

No, you're not," the Captain agreed, pistol trained on Rhys' recoiling form. "I'm ending things before you can."

Everything seemed to happen all at once then. His relinquishment of the controls, the scorch of laserfire resounding with the vacated driver's seat, his dive into the icy waters below. The world became a labryinth all around him, as the sudden current sank his flailing body further downward he could hear Panaka's water-padded snarl of anger. Further and further he sank, water billowing his lungs at a rate that caused his eyes to flutter in and out of consciousness.

Somewhere deep within his psyche, his father's oft-repeated urge for him to try was echoing. But he knew there was no more use in trying. He had ran, he had fought, and now, with the rapids increasing in ferocity all around him, he knew he would die.

_**A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this mess of a chapter. Never hesitate to leave your comments in a review. Rather good or bad, they're always appreciated. And, as always, thanks for reading!**_


	7. Of Crossroads and Shadow

**VII**

**Theed Plaza**

As one lay drowning in a pool of self-defeat, the other lay further upward, atop a throne rife with deception.

Garbed in robes of leather, the King stood on a platform elevated far above the surrounding plaza. His lanky form maintained a regal air, outlining the silhouette of the castle behind him.

Yet another speech was being delivered. His voice amplified for an audience that stretched well past the city limits. An audience that numbered in the thousands, varying in both species and expectation. The same audience that had stood there for the ruler before him, when Press Conferences were an exception and not a daily occurrence.

"To conclude…," the Gungan drew breath again, new wrinkles visibly stretched across his face. "Our search for the traitors of Bravo Flight has gone well. In the few hours since the initial announcement three of the seven have been brought into custody, with their trials set to take place in the coming days."

His swampy gaze turned to address an expansive holoprojector that rest at his side, stilted upwards with the sight of the pilots in question. Their trio of face shots cycled on a time interval, the panicked expressions of Dinee Ellerbee and Arven Wendrik replaced by the gruff demeanor of Bravo Leader himself – Ric Olie.

An outcry of anger greeted the images, several of the onlookers daring to openly boo the snapshots. Very quickly their jeers had turned to shouts of outrage, building again into a delirious frenzy.

At first, the King offered a look of grim satisfaction for the display. It was comforting to see the public taking such an active interest in their proceedings. Soon enough however, the wave of noise had built again, no longer directed at the slideshow of images, but at the presenter himself.

Before Dun-Tar could address the sudden shift in attitude, he spotted something whizzing towards him, flaring up from the tumultuous crowd. He squinted in response, mossy orbs focusing in on the object.

_A stone._

In the next moment he was uprooted from his position, tossed to the ground by a brawny, three-eyed Gran as the rock collided harmlessly with the stage. Half-dazed, he struggled weakly to his knees, the surrounding crowd breaking formation, clambering up to the stage on all sides. Still motionless, his mind quickly began connecting the intentions behind their actions, an enraged snarl pouring from his lips as he dove for the discarded microphone.

"And the others!" He spoke up again, voice hoarse. "We'll find them too! All of them!"

The same Gran gripped him around the waist now, dragging him backwards before the murderous throng could close in all around him.

"They'll be tried!" Dun-Tar spat, his well-practiced Basic breaking under the sudden pressure. "They'll be found guilty! _EXECUTED_!"

Dropping the mic, it was all he could to scramble away now, reeling backwards on hands and knees, escaping into the confines of the castle as the horde thundered towards him. The King's last glimpse of the plaza was of his savior trading blows with the aggressors, boulder-like fists clutched around a human's face, crumpling it into a puddle of gory brain matter.

Crumpling to, Dun-Tar realized, his hopes of returning for a second term.

* * *

**Theed Emergency Center**

**Minutes Later**

"Traitors…" the King's graveled voice determined, the word echoing throughout the private medical chamber he found himself in. "All of them, traitors."

His bandaged head panned the room, making note of the silver-plated medical droid that stood beside him. Then back out, addressing those privileged enough to accompany him. On one side, a trio of Royal advisers, Gungans, clad in matching robes. They were timid but mostly dependable, far more acquainted with the oceans than their current surroundings, "gifts" from his Uncle's regime. On the other side, the Gran, heavyset, orange-tan body towering well over two meters in length, his blaster-proof vest clashing with the white-walled interior.

"You did well, Athar," the ruler finally noted, wincing as the droid injected him with bacta serum.

The Gran offered a simple nod in return, arms still crossed, beady gaze never wavering from the King's bedside. "Thank you, milord."

"A much better bodyguard than that imbecile, Panaka would have been...," Dun-Tar murmured, bringing a hand to rest at his lip, a streak of greenish blood still flowing freely.

As if the wound alone was enough to remind him of the officer in question, he turned again to the group of advisers, none of them visibly pleased to be in his presence. "Where is the fool, anyways?"

The lead of the three opted to answer, fidgeting slightly as he stepped forward.

"He'sa still out searching for the Bravo pilot youssen specifically asked him to go after."

"Oh?" Dun-Tar responded, his gaze tightening, displeased as much by the dialect as he was by the news.

"Yes, milord," Athar interjected, a sideways glance back at the advisers indicating that he wasn't interested in listening to the other's speak in their native tongue. "It would appear that he escaped by way of one of the water canals... We've managed to uncover one of his last comm transmissions before he left."

Dun-Tar found his fists clenching tighter upon the revelation, gauze threatening to tear around his forearm. "And? What did it say?"

The Gran ventured another step forward, swallowing hard. "It would appear that the four remaining pilots are planning to rendezvous... Likely in the hopes of retaliating against the Kingdom."

"Likely_, _yes_..._" The King reiterated with a simple nod, gaze turning downward as the protocol droid approached his bedside again. In the next, he had shot up, bandaged-hands wrapping around the cyborg's neck, scraping at its circuitry with a snarl. Flinging the covers off, he drove it back, not halting until its chromed form was repeatedly smashed against the adjacent wall, smoke spiraling from its corpse.

Breathing heavily, he turned to address the three royal aides that remained at the other end of the ward, mouths agape.

"_Get out_."

The trio needed no further convincing, quickly filing away, cloaks whizzing behind them. His sight shifted to the straggler, one who had nearly tripped over his robes in haste to exit the room.

"No, not you Binks," he decided, an amused smile managing to creep across his bill. "I want you to clean up the mess."

From there he turned back, acknowledging Athar's own gaze, one that showed no indications of disapproval. Dun-Tar offered a simple shrug to his conspirator, still feeling the need to justify his motives. "It's likely the most useful thing I've had him do since Uncle gave me these fools."

The Gran remained expressionless, leaving the King to stride to the other side of the chamber with a sigh. He rubbed a finger against the transparisteel of the window before him, mind drifting, only the scraping of metal by his royal aide there to keep him from his thoughts. Focus began drifting away from the act, out across the infirmary that encompassed them. His eyes were drawn to the turbolift that rest towards the middle, centered between the doctors hurrying away in either direction. He found himself tracing the conveyor upwards, up to a room some three stories above, where the former Queen lay in a comatose state. A state she would remain in, indefinitely if the King had his way.

Nodding determinedly, he finally came to address his current predicament.

"I want you to find them."

"_Them_?"

"Bravo Flight," He answered with a shake of his head. "What's left of them, anyways. The Royal Forces have proven effective, but not nearly enough. I've already told you that my plans fall apart if... Word gets out."

The Gungan paused, exchanging a solemn look with Athar. "Particularly with Dallows and Sage still roaming about. Set bounties if you have to, I want them to be top priority."

"Even over -"

"Yes," the King interjected, casting a cautioned glance back towards the lurking adviser. "Rebels are worth more than weapons to me... For now."

The Gran consented, a quick nod acknowledging the sentiment.

"Oh, and one more thing."

His errand-runner halted, tired gaze shifting back once more. "Yes, milord?"

"I want the boy... Panaka's nephew, bring him up to the Throne Room."

Dun-Tar now found a knowing sneer cross his face.

"I think he'll be interested in what I have to tell him."

* * *

**Throne Room**

**One Hour Later**

Again he found himself gazing out. This time it wasn't the pristine interior of a medical ward, but the sight of a dozen citizens being dragged away from the castle gates - straggling protesters of his earlier speech.

_Fools._

Dun-Tar corrected himself mentally, turning away from the window, back to address the empty throne room. Drifting past the criss-cross of chairs, he found his ears perking up at the sound of a comm radio across the limestoned expanse.

_"- Effectively disbanding the Royal Council."_

_"He's scattered our security forces to go out on some witch hunt."_

_"Scaremongering our people into thinking they're less safe than -" **Click!**  
_

His leathery hand rested at the radio's activator for a moment, fist tightening around the knob. For a moment he envisioned himself heaving the entire radio upward, launching it across the room, leaving it to shatter through the tinted window on the nearest wall. A smug smile crossed his lips as he imagined its journey, careening downward, durasteel bulk impacting with one of the protesters far below.

The King thrusted the notion away, deciding instead to occupy his mind with the other renovations he had made to the chamber. Of particular note was the aquarium that stood against the far wall. It stretched out for the expanse of the room, but a curtain was draped over the front of it, one that shadowed the entirety of its contents from view. Still, slight tremors could be felt, as if whatever was inside was causing the room to sway to its center.

Dun-Tar brought a finger against the structure for an instant, feeling the thumping hum of the transparisteel beneath. The thuds continued this way, building in intensity, as if whatever beast that lay cloaked within was suddenly attracted to the appendage, trailing it in whichever direction it went. The King amused himself this way for a time, running his hand along the curtained glass, always receiving a response from the creature.

He halted when the towering doors creaked open far behind him. Turning, his murky gaze was greeted by the approach of a muscled officer, wearing a tanned vest and a patch over one eye.

"You requested me, your lordship?"

"Ah, Typho," the King drawled, noting the Security Chief's nephew with a clasp of his hands. "Come, come... I had something that I thought might interest you."

The serviceman did as requested, boots clacking against the hall's tiled floors before halting, resting at the ruler's side. They remained in silence, both gazing at the curtained fish tank for a moment, one curiously, the other maliciously.

"As I understood it, your original career path would've had you become a sort of marine biologist, yes?"

If Typho was taken aback by the sudden question, he wasn't showing it. Instead, he offered a solemn nod of his head. "When my Mother passed away I wasn't able to put enough credits together to stay enrolled in my University... My Uncle took me under his wing after that."

He tacked on the last bit with a smile. "I've been serving here loyally ever since."

"Such a shame you weren't able to continue..." Dun-Tar noted simply. "You've done a great service in your time here."

The King then adjusted his posture, face turning grim. "Though I've heard you failed in your last assignment."

The nineteen year old turned to face him, his single-eyed gaze widened in slight alarm. "Yes, milord. My counterpart acted out of turn and as a result Dallows was able to -"

"I've read the report," Dun-Tar interjected, raising his hand slightly. "That's not why I brought you here."

"I see," Typho responded simply, face turning back to the emerald drapery in front of the duo.

The King didn't bother to respond, choosing instead to make his reasoning known visually. In the next moment, he had pulled the curtain away, revealing the contents within. A graying mass of a beast tilted in the water, snaked into a coil that stretched the length of the aquarium. A pair of venomous eyes peeked out from far below, in between the strands of artificial seaweed that the tank contained.

Typho found himself taking a step back at the sight. First in amazement, then in confusion.

"Do you know what this is, Lieutenant?"

No response was given.

"It's a baby Sando Beast... Given your interest in aquatics I thought it might interest you," He stated simply, waving a hand at the sight. "It will grow to be close to two hundred meters in length... I'll only be able to house it here for a few months, after that she'll be far too large to live in any aquarium here on Naboo... Soon enough only the oceans will be able to contain her."

The Officer still did not offer a response, eyes mesmerized by the aquatic hunter.

"Does she frighten you?" Dun-Tar asked then, a look of amusement creeping across his bill.

Typho shuffled his feet in turn, finally allowing a nervous chuckle to pour from his lips. "She certainly isn't comforting me, milord..."

The Officer's gaze shifted, away from the menacing creature, upwards to a bundled mass, one that was rope-tied about a meter above the water's surface. Looking closer, he raised an eyebrow, noticing that the parcel-like heal was swaying slightly. "Sir... Pardon my asking, but what exactly is that thing strung up above?"

"Ah, I was hoping you would ask that."

The King's gaze shifted away from the bloodthirsty critter, back to the guard at his side. "Tell me, what do you know of the eating establishment the 'Swampy Lianorm'?"

Typho shrugged. "Not much... I know it's a restaurant that Bravo Flight tended to frequent."

"Precisely," Dun-Tar began with a look of satisfaction. "The owner of that restaurant - a Toydarian by the name of Boz - was approached for that reason exactly. Intel suggested that he had been in contact with the pilots less than an hour before the Landien bombings took place... When approached about the subject he resisted, lying and saying he didn't know what my men were talking about."

His emerald orbs scanned over the blanketed mass, spying the tattered wing that poked out from beneath.

"Naturally... That didn't end very well."

As if on command, the heap was lowered into the water, veil washing away, revealing the deceased fry cook inside. The creature stirred further below, gnashing its teeth at the potential meal. The distance between hunter and prey was closed in seconds.

"He put up a good fight, I'll give him that," Dun-Tar noted, eyeing the half-submerged Toydarian with a look of appreciation. "But in time, just like everyone else that's opposed this Kingdom, he to has fallen."

The King paused, watching as the imp-like humanoid was torn to shreds.

"As I'm sure you're well aware, those who defy the Kingdom are met with undesirable consequences... I would hate for the same to happen to your Uncle."

Typho swallowed hard. "My Uncle?"

"Yes, your Uncle. Because - just like this silly Toydarian - he's been trying to keep secrets from the Kingdom..."

Dun-Tar paused again, eyes reflecting the new crimson that billowed from within the tank. "And his secrets will have a cost."

* * *

**Port Landien**

Water-laden boots met sandy turf. The cycling hum of a flashspeeder's turbines staggered nearby, silenced by the crack of glass beneath the Officer's feet. The glint of carvanium was seen at his side - a holstered S-5 blaster pistol.

For a moment he stayed this way, hand resting on his weapon, stony gaze peeking out across the desolate landscape. In the next, he was marching forth, taking hard, dignified steps. His center was focused on the act, not daring to glance in either direction, knowing that death was all that would greet him.

With a grunt, the dark-skinned male had hefted himself over an outcropping of metal, the smoldered remains of what had once been an apartment building. Again his boots crunched, this time against a ground-impacted skull, no larger than that of a child's. A grimace was all he gave in response, gloved-fists clenching at the sight.

Soon enough, he was pushing onward, out into a clearing. Marbled tile lay strewn about, suggesting that the ruins had been a plaza at some point. His interest was not with the plaza however, but a trail which sprawled further off, leading to a structure that nearly hung off the town's hillside peak.

Graying orbs took in the sight, left weary by the carnage of a few days prior. He took note of its shattered window patterns, stained glass indicating that it had been a chapel of some sort. The notion was all he had to carry him forward, the sanctuary's shadowed interior not exactly helping his feelings of dismay.

As he took his first steps inside, he had to bring a hand to cover his mouth, searing flesh wafting in all directions. He carried onward again, not looking downward, all too familiar with the skeletal remains that lay scattered throughout.

The march from one end of the chamber to the other was a long one, riddled in distress, his eyes left to focus on the trap door tucked against the far wall. His perseverance paid off, however, as he quickly found himself hovering above the hatch, oak carving bathed in crimson. For a moment his hand rested on its handle, left to wonder if he would find what he desired. In the next, he was pushing past, climbing down into a dank passage far below.

His boots had resounded against both sand and bone, and now they splashed against a murky mix of blood and water. The officer hesitated, taking an inhale of chilled breath, waiting for his eyes to adjust to their cramped surroundings.

It took longer then expected, streaks of light blinding him slightly, billowing down from the planked ceiling up above. But when they had, he was greeted by the most welcoming sight he had seen that day. An elderly man lay half-dazed, head leaned back against the stony wall, his silver beard gleaming with the pinpricks of sunlight.

"Councilman Bibble," Panaka called gruffly, a glint of hope finally present in his eyes. "I think it's time we fix things."

_**A/N: Woo! Finally got a new chapter out. This one is dedicated to a friend of mine by the name of Caleb's Fanfiction Creations, he's an admin over at a SW Forum called What the Fosh - I highly recommend you check it out ;). Happy Birthday my friend!**_


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